A Tale of Archadian Passion, OR, Penelo's Navel
by Anria
Summary: Archadia has gone through four Dalamascan ambassadors in six months, much to Larsa's dismay. The latest ambassador, however, is a familiar face. Penelo/Larsa
1. Defeated by socks

**Summary:** Archadia has gone through four Dalamascan ambassadors in six months, much to Larsa's dismay. The latest ambassador, however, is a familiar face.  
**Notes:** Set post-game (the PS2 game, anyway), mostly from Larsa's perspective. This fic has no update schedule due to my life having a rather full schedule, so it will be updated as and when I feel like it.

**A Tale of Archadian Passion****, or, ****Penelo's Navel****  
by Anria**

**Part One**

Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, eighteen-year-old Emperor of all Archadia, found himself waiting in the aerodrome of his native city for the fourth time in six months.

Dalmasca was sending a new ambassador.

Again.

He found himself at a loss to explain why all the ambassadors Ashe sent from Rabanastre sooner or later developed a pressing family emergency and left Archades with unseemly haste. Sometimes by climbing out of windows in the middle of the afternoon – the only apparent impetus then had been a friendly offer to dine with him that evening.

It could not be simple coincidence. Not after six years.

Did he smell? Larsa found himself wondering more often than not. Was he so hideous to look upon? Had he inadvertently made the same huge faux pas over and over again, so that the Rabanastran ambassadors would rather stow away on a craft transporting cockatrice manure (as had the most recent emissary) than spend another moment in his company?

Basch was becoming annoyed with these ponderings, Larsa was aware. At first, his protector-turned-friend had been patient, explaining in his own gruff, repressed way that no, Larsa did not smell, no, he was not repulsive to look upon ("Did you think _all_ the society ladies who stalk your every move interested only in your position?"), and no, he had not made any huge social gaffes.

So then Larsa had asked Basch what he could have done, to scare away so many ambassadors so quickly. Basch had replied that the mind of a diplomat was beyond him. Larsa had said, yes, he knew, as did the Rozarrian ambassador who'd made the mistake of complimenting Archadia's conquest of Landis in Basch-cum-Gabranth's presence. No matter how many times Larsa attempted to explain that he had been complimenting Archadia's _military strategy_, Basch refused to see sense, and so Larsa was forced to run interference any time the two men were in the same room. It was getting very embarrassing.

Dragging himself back to the present with a sigh, Larsa smoothed his face into a pleasant smile and waited patiently for the Rabanastran airship to finish docking. To pass the time, he idly ran through the last few diplomatic agreements made between the two countries and then started calculating this year's tax levies in binary thirteen. (Binary ten had got boring when he was fourteen, after the third time he'd had to wait for an ambassador to arrive. He varied it, now. Last time had been binary six. On the up side, the Chancellor of the Treasury was so thoroughly under Larsa's thumb that he never did anything Larsa hadn't directly told him to do and frequently whimpered when the young Emperor went to visit his offices.)

Eventually, the huge doors of the airship swung open to the usual grating fanfare, and the Rabanastran party began to parade out – minor officials first, then a small handful of guards, the most that the ambassador was allowed – and Larsa found himself thinking that the next ambassador had to be very short, because all he could see from his position was a glint of strangely familiar blonde hair.

Of course, half of Dalmasca was that particular shade of ash-blonde. It was hardly surprising that the colour was familiar, Larsa told himself.

The Grand High Whatsit (whose only job, so far as Larsa could tell, was to announce the names and titles of visiting dignitaries) began puffing himself up as the two columns of the procession reached the small dais where Larsa stood. The columns separated with ponderous dignity, filing neatly into two lines to reveal—

"Penelo?" Larsa said, startled. He heard a noise like a deflated balloon somewhere to his left, where the Grand High Whatsit – he'd have to made Basch look up the man's actual title one of these days, just so he could officially change it to 'Windbag' – was standing. Not that it mattered, because—

"Hi, Larsa," Penelo said, smiling up at him. "Surprise!"

"A wonderful surprise, indeed!" Larsa said in delight, ignoring the shocked mutterings around him as he strode off the dais. He hesitated in front of Penelo, not sure how best to greet his old friend and former crush – but then she smiled at him, and he threw out any pretence at ceremony and claimed Penelo's right hand, tucking it under his elbow as he smiled back down at her. Down! That was new!

"I can't believe it's been six years since I last saw you," Penelo said, echoing Larsa's thoughts exactly.

Well, perhaps not _quite_ exactly. Penelo's thoughts were unlikely to be quite so caught up with the realisation that she was wearing traditional Dalmascan garb, and as a consequence if Larsa moved his arm an inch down and to the left _the back of his hand would press against her bare stomach._

Now faced with the revelation of Penelo's navel, Larsa realised just how much her old body suit had prevented his twelve-year-old crush from becoming even more embarrassing. And considering that her body suit had been, essentially, skin-tight, this was a worrying prospect.

In the background, Basch was suggesting in a politely firm manner that ceremony could be dispensed with between old friends, and – even distracted as he was – Larsa took the hint and began walking Penelo through the throng of minor dignitaries towards the waiting cab.

"You'll have to tell me everything you've been doing," he said. "I'm sure you left some things out in your letters."

"Like how I got to be ambassador to Archadia?" Penelo said, smiling at him.

"You can start with that," Larsa agreed, handing her into the cab and following her in.

"Well." Penelo settled herself gracefully onto the seat, somehow managing not to get caught in the bouffant legs of her trousers. Larsa envied her grace. "Vaan and I snuck into the palace really late at night for Ashe's birthday a few weeks ago, only instead of sleeping we found her swearing at you and breaking things."

Larsa winced. This ... ran contrary to Basch's reassurance on the faux pas side. Settling on the seat across from Penelo, he gestured for her to go on.

Penelo must have sensed his unease with in her bizarre, semi-psychic way, because she smiled at him and said, "Don't worry, she wasn't really mad. You know how Ashe sometimes just ... has trouble with her temper?"

Larsa nodded.

"Anyway, she was so upset about the ambassadors all having these, um ... family emergencies or nervous breakdowns—" and somehow (with a skill that even the Archadian court-raised Larsa knew he could never emulate) Penelo got that out with an entirely straight face "—so I said if she wanted, I could help out and go be Dalmasca's ambassador. After all," Penelo added, smiling slyly, "I've seen the Emperor of Archadia get noogied by a guy who _I_ know gets defeated by socks. It's kind of hard to be intimidated after that."

Larsa pointed a finger at her. "That," he said solemnly, "is a closely-guarded state secret. None of my court know that. It could jeopardise my very position here." He paused. "Defeated by socks?"

Penelo giggled. "Never ask Vaan to mend anything not made of metal," she said. "_Especially_ socks."

The door to the cab swung open, and the armoured bulk of Basch-cum-Gabranth filled the gap. "We are ready to depart, your Majesty," Basch told him.

Larsa was about to wave him on, but common sense reasserted itself and instead he gestured for Basch to take a seat. The driver was obviously paying attention, for no sooner than Basch had shut the door than the cab smoothly took off.

"Basch, it's been too long," Penelo said, smiling as Larsa's right-hand man removed his helmet. "Have you been keeping Larsa out of trouble?"

"I have done my best," Basch replied. "It has not always been easy, but the rewards are worth it."

Basch was smiling, too, but the expression seemed strange on his face, and Larsa realised it had been some time since he had last seen Basch smile. (Or, well, smile in a manner that wasn't slightly pained, as though asking precisely what he had done to deserve guardianship of one Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, who was clearly more interested in the Akademy students' attempts to blow up parts of the Imperial Gardens than in maintaining good relations with Dalmasca's ambassadors. At least the blowing up part had only happened once before Larsa gave them their own section of the gardens to explode at will, unlike the perpetual embarrassment of diplomatic communication with Rabanastre.)

They had all become swept up in the reality of governance, Larsa thought to himself, and neglected old friends as a result. He couldn't do much about his own responsibilities, but it was remiss of him to have mistreated Basch so. After all, it was well within his ability to quietly organise for Judge Magister Gabranth to be sent on an extended visit to Rabanastre – for entirely sound reasons, of course, that would nonetheless leave him with conspicuously lax duties. Manipulating events so that Balthier, Fran and Vaan would all be in Rabanastre at the same time posed somewhat more of a problem, but Larsa was confident he would be up to the task. Especially if Penelo would consent to help him.

Unfortunately, he'd been silent too long and Basch was giving him a _look_. That particular look, and the accompanying particular quality of silent reprove, had become quite familiar to Larsa over the years; it stated that Basch knew full well that he was up to something, and that he, Basch, did not approve. Experience told Larsa that this was _especially_ so if the 'something' had anything to do with Basch's wellbeing.

"So, Penelo," Larsa said, in the vain hope of fending off Basch's tartarus-like tenacity before it got its teeth in, "what rank did Lady Ashe bestow upon you, that she might make you Dalmasca's ambassador to the Empire?"

Penelo frowned and chewed her lip. "I'm not actually sure. I think ... Baroness, maybe? Something really minor she didn't have to give land for," she finished, shrugging.

"I cannot imagine the Lady Ashe giving an empty title," Larsa said. "Especially not to you."

"She did insist on giving me an allowance," Penelo admitted. "Um, nothing much. I gave most of it to Kytes and the boys."

Kytes, Kytes... Larsa vaguely remembered Vaan mentioning something about a Kytes. "Does Vaan know about that?" he asked. "I thought he told you that he would be responsible for the other Rabanastran orphans."

Basch was smiling at him, inexplicably pleased, but Penelo gave him a startled look. "You remember that?" she said. "From all those years ago?"

Larsa blinked at her. "Yes," he said, perplexed. Didn't most people remember things like that? His court never seemed to have trouble recalling anything he'd said. And anyway, this was _Penelo_. Larsa was quite certain he would never forget anything about her.

"I..." Penelo shook her head. "Never mind. Vaan did say that, which was why I didn't tell him. Um." She gave them both a pleading look.

"Your secret is safe with us," Basch said, before Larsa could open his mouth. He nodded gravely instead, glad that – as ever – Basch was of the same mind as him.

"I missed you guys," Penelo told them, then blushed and changed the subject. "So how does this ambassador thing work, anyway?"

**oOo**

The suite of rooms reserved for the Dalmascan ambassador was in the opposite wing of the Imperial palace to Larsa's own rooms, a full twenty-minute walk away. He lied to Penelo and said they were redecorating her actual suite. Basch had his helmet back on by that point, but Larsa could hear him rolling his eyes anyway.

Later that night, after the celebration of the new ambassador (notably smaller than ones for other nations, given that a full display for every new Dalmascan ambassador would have left Archadia bankrupt years ago), Larsa contemplated the ceiling of his bedchamber and realised what Ashe was up to.

Having travelled with the lady and her companions, Larsa was intimately aware that few people could deny Penelo anything. Part of that was that she only rarely asked – uncomfortable with the idea of owing anything, particularly anything she could not repay, Penelo normally kept silent on things that troubled her until she had no further choice.

He would never have the heart to force harsher diplomatic strictures past Penelo. All she would have to do was frown at him or maybe look a bit sad, and he'd cave like structural instability in the Sochen Palace.

He spent a good fifteen minutes calling Ashe all the names he could think of, and a further fifteen mourning the revenue he would undoubtedly lose to Penelo's blue eyes. He'd had _plans_ for that money. Big, important plans, that most certainly did not involve building an exploding statue in the Imperial Gardens. He was responsible for the health, safety and education of an entirely Empire, and if he lost the revenue from the trade levies on Dalmascan goods, he'd ... lose perhaps an eighth of the surplus that went to lining the sides of his treasury and/or funding questionable Akademy experiments.

Oh.

Perhaps, on balance, Penelo was the better end of the deal.

**TBC**


	2. Exploding statues

Thank you so much to everyone who's left a review! To those of you who asked: yes, Larsa is about to find out why the ambassadors keep running away, and no, that still doesn't mean he's got a clue. :D

In this part: Larsa is topped by everyone, Penelo is manipulative, and OCs appear. Basch is present in spirit, although he probably wishes he wasn't.

NOTE: kept eating my punctuation and formatting while I was trying to post this, so if you notice any errors, please let me know and I'll see if I can fix them. No promises, but I can try, at least. :/

**Part Two**

"I've worked it out," Penelo declared, two weeks later.

Larsa looked up from his work and blinked at her, trying to relate her words to the annual accounts the military forwarded him. They were currently attempting to justify some of the most bizarre experimental weapons ever seen with a torturously complicated accounting system, linked to an even more torturously complicated risk assessment system.

"You have?" he said, confused but more than happy for any insight Penelo – or, indeed, anyone else – could offer.

"Yes."

Larsa waved a pen at her distractedly, his eyes already returning to the page in front of him. "I'm listening," he said.

A petite hand appeared on the page in front of him. Larsa's gaze darted up to see Penelo leaning over his desk (_look at the face, the face!_) and giving him a knowing look as she took his paperwork away.

"I know the reason the other ambassadors all ran away," Penelo said, smiling at him and piling papers on the edge of his desk.

There was something about Penelo's smile, Larsa thought, that simply caused his brain to stop functioning. It was like glancing out of a window at daybreak to see the most breathtaking and delicate sunrise, an interwoven shimmer of pinks and golds stretched across the sky that would fade in an instant but, for that one moment, truly took the breath away and left the mind blank of everything but the thought, _Oh. So that's the reason I get up every day._

It was thoroughly distracting and Larsa wished it would never stop.

"The other ambassadors?" he said, still only half-conscious of the conversation. Between the military accounts and the part of his mind still waxing poetic on Penelo's smile, he was having a little trouble focussing.

"From Dalmasca," Penelo said, a fond and somewhat exasperated cast to the patient look on her face. "The ones who all, um, had to leave? You know, Larsa, when you start working on something, you're really difficult to distract."

On the contrary, Larsa thought Penelo could distract him all too easily. He put the pen down anyway. "Go on," he said.

For a moment, Penelo didn't say anything; instead, she stepped back and dropped into her seat, rearranging her filmy skirt so it wasn't caught under her legs and, incidentally, leaning so the bare line of her lean, athletic waist was right in Larsa's line of sight. He swallowed and decided to examine the ornate leg of her chair instead.

When he finally looked back up, Penelo was smiling at him again.

"It's because you're too smart," she told him.

Larsa blinked. "Sorry?"

"The reason that the ambassadors ran away," she said patiently.

"I'm afraid I don't see how that could be the case, Penelo," Larsa said, frowning. He didn't feel particularly smart – not around Penelo, anyway – but that wasn't really relevant, since being intelligent didn't normally make people ride with cockatrice manure in order to avoid you. "Surely being intelligent is a desirable quality?"

"Well, yes," Penelo said, "but not when your job relies on being able to outmanoeuvre other people. It's not that you're smart, Larsa," she said earnestly. "It's that you're _too_ smart, and you don't even realise it – you expect everyone to understand what you're talking about, and most people really don't."

Larsa blinked. Oh. Okay. It did make a sort of sense – there was a _reason_ Larsa preferred talking to the professors and more enthusiastic students at the Akademy than most of the members of his court. "But—"

"You also remember everything," Penelo continued. "Like you remember things I said years ago, when I can't even remember half of what I said."

_Well, yes,_ Larsa wanted to say. _But that's just when it's __**you**__ who's saying it._ But, of course, it would be far too embarrassing to tell her that.

The last two weeks with Penelo had highlighted that Larsa really wasn't as far over that twelve-year-old crush as he'd thought he was.

"So you see, you're too intelligent," Penelo concluded triumphantly, and Larsa was back to feeling lost.

"I'm afraid I really don't follow," he said weakly.

Penelo rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded like, 'Really smart, but so dense' – but it couldn't be. "It's like this," she said, leaning forward. Larsa kept his gaze firmly on her face. Her face. Yes. "After the whole occupation thing with you ending up on our side, most of Dalmasca is pretty ambivalent towards Archadia. The ambassadors are under a bit more pressure than maybe is usual, just from people wanting them to put _something_ over you. Not over you personally," she added hurriedly. "Just ... getting something back, you know? A few cuts on trade levies for us and a few increases for you, that sort of thing, so Dalmasca can be proud that we're not cowed or in debt or – or _still ruled_ or anything like that."

Larsa nodded slowly. He knew all of this; he had had several long discussions with Basch on this very topic, back when he had just been crowned Emperor and was wading through the consequences of his brother's bad decisions. He hadn't known that Penelo was aware of it, although in hindsight he really shouldn't have been surprised – if there was one thing Penelo was good at (which was a ridiculous thought, because there were many, _many_ things Penelo was good at, distracting Larsa coming somewhere near the top of the list), it was understanding _people_.

"So the ambassadors were looking to get more than usual out of you from the very start, and I think they would have thought it'd be an easy job, what with you being pretty young for an Emperor and all," Penelo continued. "So they come to Archadia planning for everything they can possibly get, and then you go and confuse everything by just being so much _smarter_ than they are." She giggled. "I've been talking to Miels – you know, the man who's been looking after the Dalmascan ambassador's rooms the last couple of years—"

Larsa really didn't, but he should have thought about changing the servants if he wanted Penelo to believe that thing about her actual suite being redecorated. He'd have to move this 'Miels' somewhere more appropriate.

"—although Miels says it's really strange having to look after another set of rooms now—"

Ah. On second thought, perhaps he wouldn't. He'd just give Basch another raise, interfering genius that he was. Miels deserved a raise, too.

"—but anyway, Miels said that I'm the first ambassador who doesn't come back from a meeting with you panicking and trying to write down every single thing you said so they can spend half the night trying to work out what you're pulling over them now. So you see, you're too smart. You made the other ambassadors realise that they weren't going to be able to outsmart you, which kind of made them lose their purpose a bit. And then they ran away."

_Oh,_ Larsa thought, somewhat dumbstruck. That ... made entirely too much sense. If he assumed that the 'too smart' bit was true, of course, which he was conflicted over because _he_ didn't think that was so but _Penelo_ did and Penelo was almost always right, but _he_ didn't... Larsa stopped there. He was sure there was still something not quite right with Penelo's hypothesis, something that was missing.

He had a more important question on his mind, however.

"Assuming that your hypothesis is correct," Larsa said slowly, "am I going to frighten you off as well?"

It was a serious question, one that Larsa both dreaded and needed the answer to.

Penelo, however, just giggled at him. "Defeated by _socks_," she said, and Larsa relaxed.

"Well, then." Larsa rose from his seat and walked out from behind the desk. "Now that our professional relationship is assured, would the Lady Ambassador care to join me on a tour of the gardens?"

Penelo giggled again and took his offered arm. "Only if the Lord Emperor promises to show me his exploding statue," she said, and Larsa would _never stop being amazed_ at how she could read his mind.

**oOo**

The Imperial Gardens were among Larsa's favourite parts of Archades. They were on several levels connected by hanging bridges; some built on the top of palace buildings and still others built over nothing and supported by skystone alone. They had been inspired by the Mosphoran Highwaste, with the vibrant greenery and breathtaking drops of the floating stones forming the inspiration for rolling hills and carefully-plotted gardens that hung over a good portion of the upper city. Of course, the Imperial Gardens did not have the wildness of the Highwaste, but they tried to make up for that with some rather ... unusual sculptures.

Penelo was examining one of the more innovative creations. "It looks a bit like a Malboro," she said doubtfully. "Only ... not."

Larsa privately thought that that statue was a perfect replica of what a mating between Zodiark and a Vorpal Bunny would produce, with perhaps a few Malboro tentacles pasted on for effect. It was singularly hideous, but had also been a gift from the border Baron Jakys, who Larsa could not afford to offend. At least not over something so minor.

"That, unfortunately, is not one I can blow up without causing alarm," Larsa said.

Penelo laughed at him. "Come on, then, take me to the ones you _can_ blow up," she said.

Larsa claimed her hand again and walked her through the gardens towards the Akademy. The gardens on top of the Akademy were ostensibly held to the same standard and rigid rules as the rest, but in reality Larsa liked the students' propensity for destroying rather ugly ornamental gifts a little too much to reign them in. He thought exposure to Vaan at an early age may have warped his mind a little, since when faced with explosions his thoughts tended towards, 'Ooh, shiny', rather than, 'Oh dear, there goes another priceless antique.'

He rather thought Penelo would enjoy spending time there.

**oOo**

After a couple of hours in the company of the Akademy students, however, Larsa was feeling much less inclined to be favourable.

In particular, he was thinking dark thoughts about the conduct of the students towards a lady. True, Larsa could not deny that Penelo _was_ one of the more beautiful things that any person was likely to see, but a lady's beauty or lack thereof had nothing to do with treating her with respect and not – not overly-familiar _salivation_.

Penelo was at the centre of an admiring crowd of Akademy students, each of whom were competing with tales of who had made something explode in the most exuberant, imaginative, and/or costly manner. Larsa rather thought all this talk of exploding statues was getting old and they really needed to find something else to do. Didn't they know they were talking to a woman who had defeated Yiazmat? He was half-inclined to drag Penelo out of there and take her back to Larsa's office, were there were no young men casting covert glances at her navel.

Then Larsa realised that none of the Archadian ladies ever wore something so revealing as Penelo's traditional Dalmascan garb. Penelo's navel was probably the first female navel they had ever seen, and therefore was _never going to stop being fascinating_.

Larsa was buying her a whole mountain of Archadian dresses tomorrow. It was about time he attended to his duties in introducing Penelo to Archadian culture.

Try as he might, though, Larsa could not bring himself to extract Penelo from her admirers. He knew what she looked like when she was genuinely enjoying herself, and, well. He didn't have the right to take that away from her. He didn't _want_ to take that away from her, no matter his personal opinion of those entertaining her.

And so Larsa found himself contemplating the most recent addition to the Akademy's statue scrap heap, trying not to feel left out and sorry for himself. Larsa's subjects would be surprised to hear that those were feelings Larsa was quite familiar with, having grown up in Vayne's shadow, but he had also always tried not to dwell in them. Larsa's family had taught him that if he wanted anything done he had to do it himself, and moping around got you nowhere.

(Unbeknownst to Larsa, however, the Judge Magisters had a bet going on when Larsa suffer a breakdown from the weight he'd been carrying since he was a child. Basch didn't do as much to stamp it out as he might, since it kept the Judge Magisters watching over Larsa's mental health as well as his physical safety. Eventually, though, there would be more Judge Magisters betting against Larsa than betting for, and _then_ there would be hell to pay. He was saving a Flame Purge in readiness.)

"Your Imperial Majesty."

Larsa raised his head and smiled at Professor Berkenhaust, turning to face him. The Professor had been in post when Larsa was born, and he certainly looked it. His craggy face sloped from a receding hairline into a well-tended but rather voluminous beard, and although his posture was unusually straight for a man of his years he was still bowed over – less from a weakening body and more from carrying a deep emotional burden. He'd been Vayne's personal tutor, which Larsa privately thought was half the reason Berkenhaust paid so much attention to him – it was an open secret that Berkenhaust carried a not insubstantial amount of guilt over the perceived results of his tutelage.

"Professor," Larsa greeted him.

Berkenhaust had a mildly disturbing smile on his lips. "It is unusual for you to bring a guest to the Akademy," he said, resting his hands on the rail around the scrap heap. "Much less an ambassador ... and a lady."

Larsa had a feeling Berkenhaust knew he was regretting it, perceptive old bastard that he was. "Penelo is ... very special," Larsa acknowledged.

"So familiar!" the Professor said, feigning shock. "Do you not even address her as _Lady_ Penelo, my Lord?"

Larsa stared at him in confusion. Why would he refer to Penelo as Lady Penelo? They'd been friends for far too long, and Penelo would never stand for it. She'd _pout_. It was only because she was now an Ambassador—

Oh.

"I—" oh dear. Larsa cast about for something to say. "Professor, I must apologise; Penelo is an old friend, and I confess I have been too caught up in the renewal of our acquaintance to consider propriety." Oh _dear_. No wonder the court had been giving him odd looks since Penelo arrived – it was not like Larsa to forget titles when speaking to a dignitary. He must have looked horribly rude.

Or far too familiar.

Larsa knew Penelo did not mind, but he would have to apologise to her, explain the situation, and do his best to remember her title from now on. Oh _dear_. Basch was going to kill him. He was probably out playing squash-the-rumour that very second.

Berkenhaust was laughing. "Larsa, my boy, you are sometimes far too serious," he said. "It is good to see you comfortable in the company of someone other than that blasted Judge Magister."

Larsa latched onto that immediately in the hopes of diverting Berkenhaust's attention. "Gabranth is a trusted friend and advisor," Larsa said, in the tones of someone who had said it a hundred times before and could see himself saying it a hundred times again. A trusted friend and advisor who Larsa had inadvertently dropped in it again. Sometimes Larsa thought he should just abdicate and let Basch take over. It would solve a lot of problems.

"You know my thoughts on this matter," Berkenhaust said. "Let us leave it there. So tell me, my Lord, is the Lady Penelo a true example of Dalmasca's womenfolk?"

Larsa stiffened. "Lady Penelo is wholly herself, and as Emperor of Archadia I do not appreciate you referring in such a manner to the ambassador of an allied country."

Oddly, Berkenhaust was untroubled by Larsa's equally odd display of temper. Instead, he merely smiled and murmured, "So it is true, then."

"So what is true, Professor?" Larsa asked, wrong-footed and trying desperately not to show it. From the way Berkenhaust's smile widened, he was probably failing.

"Larsa!"

Penelo's voice was probably the only thing that prevented Larsa from making a fool out of himself by trying to loom over Professor Berkenhaust until he grovelled in apology. Larsa cast an icily polite smile in warning to Berkenhaust – who merely smiled back and bowed, murmuring, "I shall take my leave, my Lord," and walking away.

Which was good on the one hand, but on the other Larsa was very confused. Shaking his head a little, he put it to one side to ponder later and turned to smile at Penelo. She was trotting towards him, leaving the group of students behind, although two had detached themselves and were following her.

"Enjoying yourself?" Penelo asked when she neared, smoothing a few tendrils of hair back from her face. She looked excited and happy and Larsa ... really didn't know what to feel about that. He decided to settle for a helpless, sad sort of joy. He had no right to demand that Penelo only ever be happy because of him, regardless of how much he wanted to.

"That should be my question to you," Larsa replied. "Have the Akademy's finest stunned you with their knowledge?"

"Of how to blow stuff up, yes," Penelo said.

"And we are exceedingly good at it!"

Oh dear. Larsa knew that voice.

The two students who had followed Penelo now caught up and joined them. Bynela and Oselnar were two friends Larsa had made during his time at the Akademy, short as it was, and Larsa fervently hoped that they hadn't realised Penelo was an old friend of his.

Bynela was the second son of Lord Caratlina and was expected to join the army as soon as his studies were over, which was precisely why Bynela was still studying. Oselnar, on the other hand, had finished his studies shortly after Larsa and joined the court as an occasional scribe and general layabout. Insofar as the Emperor could have friends in his court, Larsa counted them among the best – and despite that, he had never been less glad to see them in his life. Thanks to Oselnar and his horrible, horrible "ideas", they held more embarrassing information on him that any person alive and had also been privy to a very drunken session wherein Larsa had waxed lyrical on the virtues of a blonde Dalmascan girl he was now silently praying he hadn't named.

"My Lord Larsa," Bynela greeted him, smiling.

Oselnar was less formal. "Larsa! It's been too long," he enthused, clapping Larsa on the shoulder. "I'm ashamed to say I've seen less of you that Bynela, despite being closer to you in body more often."

"I apologise," Larsa said politely, trying not to look like he was wishing they'd just go away and leave him with Penelo. Even if he was. "The court has been busy lately, and my duties have left little time to see old friends. This must be rectified as soon as possible." Just not now.

Penelo shifted next to him, bringing Larsa's attention back to her. Hopeless. He was hopeless – now Berkenhaust had made him aware of it, he saw he was paying far too much attention to her every little move. He was the Emperor of Archadia; he should have better control over his impulses than this.

"I'm sorry, Larsa, I forgot something," she said, smiling up at him. "Be right back!" she added, and darted off before he could speak.

Forgot? Penelo hadn't brought anything with her, what could she have forgotten?

An arm landed on his shoulder, dragging him into a half-headlock. Oselnar, of course; he never did understand boundaries. "You are way too serious, Larsa," Oselnar said cheerfully. "Come to the city with me! We'll drink like we did at the Akademy, when we were too young to do so – furtively and with great enjoyment."

A pang of longing shot through him at the reminder. His year at the Akademy had been the most restful since becoming Emperor; he had still been busy, of course, trying to balance both his studies and the running of Archadia, but Oselnar and Bynela had ... been remarkably like Vaan and Penelo, now that he thought about it, and had made it enjoyable nonetheless. Oselnar would show up with an adventurous, daft idea and rush headlong into it, dragging Bynela and Larsa with him, and more often than not only Bynela's good sense would prevent it from becoming an unmitigated disaster.

Of course, Larsa thought, the main difference between Oselnar and Vaan was that Oselnar's daft, impulsive ideas tended more towards, "Let's climb down the trellis outside the guardhouse window and sneak into this bar I found in Old Archades!" rather than, "Hey guys, I've found a way down into the uncharted lower levels of the Pharos where large, bloodthirsty monsters probably lurk, let's go!"

Larsa couldn't help but feel that Oselnar's version was somewhat less potentially lethal, even if the occupants of that bar hadn't taken too kindly to aristocrats in their midst.

"While I don't miss having to run damage control regarding Oselnar's stupid ideas," Bynela said, smiling at Oselnar to take the sting out of it, "I have missed our old friendship. What do you say, Larsa? Once more for old time's sake?"

Larsa had a flash of insight. "Penelo put you up to this, didn't she." That was why she had run off with such a poor excuse. And why she was standing with the group of students on the other side of the courtyard, glancing their way frequently.

Oselnar slumped against him, trying to drag him down with his body weight. Larsa set his shoulders and stood straighter, refusing to budge. That trick had worked when he was fourteen, but Larsa had _body mass_ on his side now. "Why must you be so perceptive," Oselnar moaned. "It was a good idea!"

"Lady Penelo suggested it, but I wouldn't have agreed if I didn't see the merit," Bynela said calmly. He had probably expected Larsa to work it out.

Larsa shoved Oselnar off his shoulder and smiled. "A good idea is a good idea, regardless of the source," he agreed. "However, I doubt that I will be able to spare the time." He didn't elaborate on why; they them knew that being an Emperor _was_ a time-consuming job, after all.

Strangely, both Oselnar and Bynela smirked at him on that one.

"_I_ see," Oselnar said.

"As do I." Bynela smiled, something slightly bitter in his look. "You know, Larsa," he said softly, "I never envied you before today."

"Envied me?" Larsa asked in surprise. Why would Bynela envy him? The only true distinction between them was Larsa's rank, and he knew that his studious friend did not want the throne – or, really, anything remotely approaching responsibility, since trying to manage Oselnar was a full time occupation in itself. Oselnar and Bynela were both court-born and court-privileged, from wealthy families. What could Larsa have that Bynela would envy?

The bitter expression wiped from Bynela's face as though it had never been – instead, both he and Oselnar were giving him identical fond, slightly exasperated looks. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you," Bynela said.

"No," Larsa admitted.

Oselnar grinned as Bynela shook his head. "Perhaps it is best we leave it at that," Bynela said.

Larsa resisted the urge to order Bynela to explain himself. That was petty, and he was far too mature to do that.

He'd just get Oselnar to put his hand in a bowl of water while he slept.

**TBC**


End file.
